


Wring out the old, Ring in the new

by mercurysensei



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurysensei/pseuds/mercurysensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They begin. Then begin again. Written for the Tenipuri X-Pair Exchange!</p>
<p>Thank you to Sagely_Sea for beta reading!</p>
<p>Warning: So many grandpas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wring out the old, Ring in the new

Tezuka was Sanada’s first hero.

When his grandfather’s friend brought his family over to visit, Sanada’s big, bungling brother tried to pull the quiet, shy Tezuka out from behind his mother’s legs. The little brunette first weathered this attack stoically, clinging stubbornly to Tezuka Ayana’s dress as the larger boy shouted about blocks. Sanada was sympathetic; Gen could be an awful bully, but more often than not, cleverly avoided punishment. He felt this boy’s pain.

Then, in a magical moment that would become one of Sanada’s first memories, Tezuka turned around and dug his sharp little baby teeth into his big brother’s wrist.

“Owwww!” Gen howled, clutching his hand and rolling on the ground as if the young boy had ripped it off.

Sanada crossed his arms. “You’re girly like your name.” The _one_ thing Sanada had on his brother was the long, manly name that he wielded with pride. His parents had thought that Gen would be a girl and named him accordingly.

As his mother rushed around, cleaning up the bite, Gen shot back from behind his tears, “Not like you’ll ever be able to write it. _Stupid_.”

The women hustled Gen off to the bathroom, Ayana apologizing for her son the whole way. Not that it was necessary — everyone had seen what happened.

Sanada and Tezuka were left to their own devices while their grandfathers bickered over shogi.

“I can write my name,” Sanada informed Tezuka, who seemed a little more interested in the light glimmering from the koi pond than his bragging. Still, the words made the boy turn around. “I’ll show you,” Sanada said, encouraged.

He grabbed Tezuka by the wrist and led him through their elegant home, past the crying sounds from the bathroom, and to the haven of his room. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the little boy might bite him as he had his brother. But no, Tezuka just stood there in the middle of his room, looking around as Sanada opened his trunk and scattered his dozens of papers in desperate search. His scraps of failure littered the floor of the room until he found his little piece of victory.

Smiling shyly, Sanada approached Tezuka and showed off his incredibly sloppy calligraphy. “It’s my name,” he bragged, admiring his own work. Even his grandfather was proud of his effort.

Tezuka looked up at him with rounded hazel eyes, then back down at the paper. “I can’t read characters,” he said. “But I caught a fish last week.”

 

***

 

Tezuka hated his new glasses. Sure, he had an enhanced view of the lake and of his grandfather’s fishing boat, Monroe, but he hated their weight on his nose. Even more, he hated that every little thing seemed to smudge them. He _especially_ hated when he forgot that fingers would only make the smudging worse and spread worm guts all over his glasses.

Sanada offered him a hand towel with a Doraemon pattern. Tezuka took it with a grateful nod. It was kind of his fault, after all. Tezuka had been baiting Sanada’s hook. Next time he probably wouldn’t have to, Sanada was learning fast.

It was Sanada’s first time on a fishing boat. Grandfather had put the task of instruction to him. If it were anyone else, Tezuka might have been displeased. But Sanada was easy to get along with, not prone to idle chatter or stupid questions, and unlikely to mock his wormy glasses.

Though Sanada had learned well enough to make Tezuka sit up straighter with pride, they had yet to actually catch anything. He couldn’t lose patience now. His grandfather had emphasized that if they didn’t catch anything, they weren’t going to eat, and he just couldn’t do that to his mother.

“You’re not going the glare the fish up out of the water, boys,” Tezuka’s grandfather teased. A weight came over his head and he rolled his eyes up to see the brim of Tezuka Kunikazu’s red cap. It was a little warm from his grandfather’s head and entirely too big, but his heated face certainly appreciated the shade.

“Not for lack of trying,” Sanada’s grandfather added with humor.

“We may go hungry tonight.”

“Nonsense. Just leave dinner up to Genichirou.”

“If either of the kids catch anything, it’s going to be Kunimitsu.”

“Don’t underestimate Genichirou, he’s a fast learner!”

“You’re careless to overlook the matter of experience!”

As the old men bickered, Tezuka turned to look at Sanada. He recognized the competitive spark in Sanada’s dark eyes. Determined, Tezuka reeled his line back in and recast elegantly, showing off just a little. Sanada followed suit, executing the simpler cast that Tezuka had taught him only an hour before.

The once peaceful sounds of the lake became their battle music, only emphasized by the escalating dramatics of their grandparents.

“Genichirou can meditate for an entire twenty-seven minutes!”

“Ayana just started Kunimitsu on cello lessons. The teacher says he had talent.”

“Genichirou drew the best Momotaro in his class!”

“Kunimitsu was the greatest bear in his school play!”

Tezuka twitched; he had actually been a cat.

“Genichirou does the Shin-chan elephant dance with his brother!”

Unfortunately, Tezuka’s mother wouldn’t let him watch Shin-chan. He turned curiously to Sanada to ask about the elephant dance, only to see his companion grow furiously red under his dark hair. Before he could query any further, he felt a tug on his line.

He hooked a fish! Excited, he pressed his lips together in a firm line and stood to reel it into the boat. He went steadily, careful not to lose the fish or his line. At his side, Sanada watched with mingled interest and jealousy, which made Tezuka want to bag his catch even more.

For all his care, Tezuka yanked the fish out of the water just _a little_ too fast. The line snapped, sending a tiny sunfish reeling to flop right into Sanada’s waiting lap. Surprised, Sanada screamed and stood, flailing out with his legs instinctively. His foot connected with the flopping, silvery fish to kick it straight out of the boat and into the water.

For a long moment, the old men regarded the boys silently. Then together, they laughed. Sanada’s grandfather tussled his grandson’s hair and said, “It was too small for eating anyway. Well done, getting rid of it.”

Sanada flushed.

“Only catch of the day, Kunimitsu,” Tezuka felt the warm weight of his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder. “I won’t tell your mother that we stopped by the market if you don’t.” 

Tezuka nodded solemnly; Sanada echoed the gesture.

“A nice, fat tuna then!” Sanada’s grandfather smiled. “How fast can you get us back for it, old man?”

“Faster than it takes you to move your damn shogi piece.”

Tezuka and Sanada looked at each other; their shoulders slumped happily with the removal of expectation. Exhaling, Tezuka watched the sun bounce off the dipping waves that Monroe left in her wake and thought that, perhaps, the glasses were worth the view.

 

***

 

That friendship didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not while Tezuka made his victorious runner-up trophy, gleaming at him from the bench while they played, look like cheap plastic.

He had always felt that Tezuka was his rival. But total annihilation on the court wasn’t hunting beetles in the forest and racing them in the back yard. Six games to none followed by six games to love wasn’t sparring in the dojo. It wasn’t sharing commiserating looks as Gen did something foolish, or as their grandfathers resumed bickering.

His knees were cold where they hit the court. Breathless, he looked up at Tezuka as if this were the first time he had ever really seen him.

“I’ll challenge you,” said Yukimura, who had bested Sanada in the final.

Tezuka accepted. Sanada stepped aside and watched. The two boys battled for hours, leaving Sanada so hopelessly behind. His resentment balled and curdled, blurring the memories of tumbling into the koi pond together and enduring long minutes of _seiza_ as punishment.

Yukimura and Tezuka battled until they were kicked out of the park. Sanada trailed behind them. When Tezuka bid them farewell at the bus stop, Sanada murmured back mutedly at the ground.

He and Yukimura boarded the same bus. For a long time, they were silent. Sanada watched the lamps as they drove, how the movement seemed to make the dim light look like something much more fierce on the pavement.

“Do you want to defeat him someday,” Yukimura asked, finally.

Sanada nodded.

“We will. Rikkai-dai will become a force to be reckoned with,” said Yukimura, as if the matter were entirely settled.

And maybe it was. Yukimura could show him the way. The peaceful childhood days faded into his more distant memory, welcoming the sweat and war of tennis.

 

***

 

“Kunimitsu, come and greet Sanada-san,” his mother knocked lightly on the door. “Too bad, Genichirou-kun had too much homework to join us for supper.”

With a nod, he pushed a bookmark into his history text. Tezuka had expected as much; they weren’t friends anymore.

That much was obvious from Sanada’s demeanor when Tezuka came to visit with his grandfather. Instead of offering to spar or sitting with them, exchanging looks while the old men fought about this and that, Sanada either avoided his gaze or glared a metaphorical hole into the center of his forehead. When Genemon called for his usual shogi match, Sanada wasn’t trailing behind him to partake in their usual bonsai tour and documentary viewing. The only time they faced each other in the dojo, the other boy seemed more interested in taking his head off than actually using martial arts.

Then, his birthday passed and he received no calligraphy from Sanada. Tezuka had done something wrong. He didn’t know what, because obviously he wasn’t about to go easy on Sanada, who wouldn’t want that either.

He could have reached out. He could have confronted Sanada about his behavior.

But he wanted no part of this cold rivalry that replaced their boyish friendship. He stopped tagging along with his grandfather. He stopped watching kendo tutorials. When Sanada’s birthday came around, he didn’t give him a new fishing lure, as he always did. When his beetle died, he didn’t invite Sanada to the funeral.

Some things just weren’t meant to be.

As Sanada built his empire of Rikkai-dai with Yukimura and Yanagi, Tezuka too had something important to focus on.

He rebelled quietly, beginning a silent war in the backyard of Seigaku. He didn’t like fate that others simply accepted. He didn’t like the assumptions that people made about him, or about his peers. Most of all, he despised entitlement. If he refused to allow ego and tradition to snuff out his talent and determination, then he wasn’t alone. He was just the beginning: the first pillar. And as his team’s source of fire, he didn’t care about beating any one person, or any one team. They aimed singularly to grow stronger and steadier than everyone, beyond any terrible odds that the tennis circuit might stack against them.

Seigaku’s combined effort would steal nationals from the jaws of fate and no angry, careless senpai could stop them, regardless of how many rackets got hurled against his arm.

 

***

 

Feeling five all over again, Sanada stared at his cell phone. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to use it — Gen’s hand-me-down Nokia was simple enough — or that he couldn’t remember the number, for he knew it just as well as his own.  
Sucking in his breath, Sanada told himself that things were different now and dialed the number. Then, he dialed it again because his overly large thumbs messed up a digit, connecting him with a perm salon.

The familiar voice of Tezuka’s mother confirmed his accurate dial.

“It’s been a long time, Genichirou-kun,” she said warmly. “I enjoyed watching you play Kunimitsu. It was like old times.”

Sanada gulped. “We…did a number on each other.”

Ayana had the world’s loveliest laugh. “Exactly, like old times.”

Despite himself, Sanada smiled. “May I speak with…Kunimitsu.” It took great effort to not call him by his surname.

“Of course, let me fetch him. Goodness knows that those bonsai have been mothered enough, between him and his grandfather.”

Sanada considered teasing Tezuka about the bonsai, but on hearing him pick up the receiver, could only say, “Tezuka.”

“Sanada,” Tezuka greeted. Then fell silent. Had he hung up?

“…Tezuka,” he repeated.

“…I assume that you had a purpose for calling.”

“Yes,” Sanada said. Gathering his threads of thought, he continued, “I was hoping…that you could give me the number of a good physical therapist.”

Unconsciously, he looked down at his knee, still wrapped up like Christmas from his visit to the school doctor.

“Your knee,” Tezuka vocalized his thoughts.

“Mm,” Sanada confirmed. “How is your arm?”

“….” he heard some rustling on the other line. “Nothing I’m not used to. Good therapy helps.”

“So I heard…” Sanada trailed off. That motive had been genuine; he really did need to strengthen his knee. But it wasn’t his only motive. He had thought that Tezuka would have hung up or pawned his request off on Atobe.

Instead, Sanada found himself listening to a set of numbers.

“Thank you — ” Sanada started, only to hear a second set of numbers. He scrawled them neatly just under the first.

“The first one belongs to Takeda-sensei. The second one is mine. Don’t call the house phone again.”

The conversation ended with a click.

***

In the waiting room of his physical therapist’s office, Tezuka flipped through Tennis Pro Monthly. It seemed that every issue contained more and more about his fellow junior high school students. Tezuka sighed; he had rather hoped for an article about an actual tennis pro now that nationals had concluded. Perhaps he would advise Kaidou to get a restraining order against the press.

Sanada walked in and removed his hat. He peered around the waiting room, looking for somewhere to sit, and spotted Tezuka. Though Sanada was surely surprised to see him, his face gave no indication. The former vice-captain took the seat next to him and said nothing. He didn’t look at any magazines. Perhaps Sanada was nervous; Tezuka certainly had been during his first appointment, before he realized that physical therapy was about building him up rather than holding him back.

Not expecting him to speak, Tezuka waited next to Sanada. The sight of the wrapped knee next to his own reminded him of their nationals match: Seigaku’s victory over all the whole circuit and Sanada’s victory in their stubborn match of endurance and pain. 

Sanada’s knee cracked audibly when he stood to answer his name. Tezuka watched him walk, steadily, straightly to the office.

He had another hour to wait for his own appointment. In search of greener pastures, he put down Tennis Pro Monthly and picked up a home garden magazine. His mind drifted from growing the perfect backyard cherry tomatoes and back to their match. He had been disappointed to lose, certainly, but there was nothing to actually regret. They had both left every ounce of their sweat and skill on the court. Perhaps it had been that villain, fate, perhaps it had been luck, or perhaps Sanada had just been a better player at that moment in time.

Seigaku had been the better team. Pride welled up in him again, even as his shoulder twitched in painful reminder of what it had cost. But the weight that had crippled him was gone. Maybe it had required both victory and loss to remove. The time would come to vindicate himself, but for now…

“Tezuka-kun,” the receptionist called him. Now he would take care of himself.

As he walked through the narrow hall, Sanada departed a room. The hallway was too small for their athletic shoulders to pass, so they each sidestepped, back against the wall and eyes on each other.

Tezuka couldn’t read Sanada’s face, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. That was enough to quell his concern for now. It had been worth it to come early for his appointment.

Dr. Takeda was, as always, just the right blend of friendly and professional. He was thankful; physical therapy required as much personal touching and confidence as it did expert skill. The good doctor chided him for his match, surely he had seen the report from his orthopaedic specialist, and went over his new regiment of exercises. He was disappointed to see the weight that the doctor would have him lift decreased to almost nothing, but he had anticipated as much. Though it was his own fault, he could not bring himself to regret it.

“Very good,” Takeda said, praising his form and line as he repeated the exercise motions. They were unpleasant, but not excruciating. The activity was doing its work. “I want you to do this one every other day, five sets of fifteen. Can you handle that?”

Tezuka nodded. The easy exercises were important in rebuilding his strength and stamina. Unless he felt something wrong, he would do them.

Takeda chuckled. “Your friend is a little like you.”

“Aa,” agreed Tezuka, who had some idea of what Takeda might be referring to.

“You endure the same way,” Takeda said.

Tezuka hummed and lifted the resistance strap attached to the wall. That hadn’t been what he expected to hear. And while he wasn’t entirely sure what Takeda meant by that, he preferred ruminating over the words to asking.

After giving him another scolding and a folder full of exercise descriptions, Takeda sent Tezuka onward. He made his own way down the narrow, familiar hallway and back to the window, where he made his next appointment.

When he turned to leave, he was stopped by the sight of Sanada staring blankly into the gardening magazine that Tezuka had been reading only an hour prior. But he attributed Sanada’s expression — the face of a man with a serious bowel obstruction — to the older woman chatting his ear off, alternating between the topics of manure and her lovely granddaughter.

Sanada had waited, presumably for Tezuka. Knowing that, he really couldn’t ignore it when the proud member of Rikkai-dai turned his dark, desperate eyes up to him for help.

“Sanada,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

Sanada stood like lightning and dragged Tezuka from the waiting room like fire. They walk more slowly toward the train station together and stopped in front of the gates to look at each other. Sanada pressed his lips together into a fine line, and then opened his mouth to say something. No sound came out.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” Tezuka said, before he could think twice.

“I don’t like coffee.”

“Aa…” as Tezuka pivoted toward the gate to walk away, Sanada’s hand came down on his good shoulder. He looked over it at the brunette.

“….I like tea.”

Tezuka kind of wanted to slap him the way he had slapped Echizen, the way Sanada had supposedly slapped his teammates. Instead, they wandered around the little station until they found a _Beck’s Coffee_. Despite the name, they offered tea as well, much to Sanada’s delight. The smell of hot roast brew with a guilty hint of hazelnut syrup livened Tezuka up before he could even take a sip. Protectively cupping his beverage, Tezuka joined Sanada, who was hunched over a table that was entirely too small for them. 

They lifted their drinks together. Despite the dull roar of the station around them, the moment felt like a slice of quiet. His arm seemed to throb less with every sip. He watched the steam curl to and fro in front of Sanada’s face and wondered if he felt the same way.

“How is Seigaku’s new team coming along?” Sanada asked.

Tezuka traced the cardboard neck of his coffee collar. “It’s coming.”

“Kirihara will be the next captain of Rikkai-dai.”

“As expected,” Tezuka said. Though Kirihara was a bit of a wildcard, he was also the only second year strong enough for the task.

“Hn,” Sanada agreed.

“We were fortunate to have two capable second years,” Tezuka said. Kaidou and Momoshiro had much to learn, but their leadership strengths and weaknesses were in complement, like his and Oishi’s. “Kaidou will fill my role and Momoshiro will become Vice-Captain.”

Sanada inclined his head. “A good choice.”

“Oishi’s choice,” he gave credit where it was due. “Both roles are pivotal to the team’s success.”

“That’s my concern,” Sanada admitted. “Kirihara needs someone who will help him stay that temper.”

Just thinking the word _temper_ with Seigaku’s new leadership in mind gave him a headache.

“You might try Atobe for advice on Kirihara’s behalf,” he suggested, though Atobe had certainly received support from certain members of his team.

Sanada stared at his cup, as if the taste had suddenly gone sour.

_Fair,_ Tezuka thought. He respected Atobe, but could not really get behind his leadership style. “Kaidou and Momoshiro are both hotheads as well. I’m counting on Echizen to…contain them.” Though really, his young pillar was more likely to watch the fight while double-fisting McDonald’s burgers. 

Thick brows disappearing into his hairline, Sanada said, “Will there actually be a Seigaku to play Rikkai-dai next year?”

“I could ask you the reverse,” Tezuka sipped at his tea. “If Seigaku wins Nationals next year, you owe me another coffee.”

“If Rikkai-dai wins Nationals next year, you owe me a spar.”

“It’s not like you to aim for something you could get if you just asked.”

“Rikkai-dai has such a big advantage, it only seems fair.”

“I lied. It’s very like you.”

Sanada chuckled and stood. Tezuka followed with his eyes to see that Sanada was actually buying him another coffee. He supposed that, under the circumstances, he could indulge twice.

***

 

The rapid train to Tokyo swayed as it flew on the rails. Sanada, regal in his winter kimono, crossed his arms and glared flatly across at Kirihara. Skinny jeans were not appropriate attire for New Years.

Breathing deeply, Sanada turned to face Yanagi, who was more acceptably dressed.

“So your date is in Tokyo as well, Genichirou,” Yanagi’s lips quirked as much as they ever did. Of course, his wily friend found his own ways to be unacceptable.

Grunting, Sanada said, “My brother’s car was full.”

It wasn’t entirely true. There was room in the back seat between his grandfather and Sasuke.

Kirihara’s jaw dropped. “You have a date, Yanagi-senpai!”

“At least I look it.”

Bullied on both sides, Kirihara scowled and folded his arms.

“Don’t be upset. According to most recent data, Kaidou-kun enjoys scruffy and disheveled.”

Kirihara beamed again.

“But usually on pets.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sanada said, before Kirihara could try to break anything in the train. Where was Yukimura when he needed him?

The train found the downtown hub in one piece; they boarded another, joining similarly dressed people on the way to one of the city’s more prominent shrines. His family had a tradition of meeting Tezuka’s here, not that anyone else knew. He had avoided that tradition, or at least Tezuka himself, in recent years.

“Enjoy your time with Tezuka-kun,” Yanagi said, clapping Sanada on the shoulder as he passed him. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Yanagi knew. The dataman met an unfamiliar girl under one of the large red gates. He thought it was rather lazy of her to wear pigtails with traditional dress.

Just as Sanada concluded that Kirihara had run off somewhere, Sasuke launched himself at his back and dangled there like some horrible striped wreath. He wished that his brother had encouraged his son to wear something more appropriate for the occasion.

“Let go,” he pried at his nephew’s hands.

“Buy me some yakitori,” Sasuke said cheerfully.

“I’ll grill you instead,” Sanada grumbled, but the boy ignored his threat in favor of wrapping his legs around him as well.

The Tezukas found them just as Sasuke was attempting to gather the longer bits of Sanada’s hair into pigtails. Tezuka’s eyes found him; Sanada flustered and redoubled efforts to get the child off of his back.

“Genichirou,” Tezuka said. His first name sounded so foreign, yet so familiar on his lips. Sanada swallowed. “Sasuke-kun. Happy New Year.”

He meant to greet Tezuka in turn. Instead, he said, “You’re not wearing kimono.” Every New Year that they had spent together featured a much younger Tezuka in traditional dress.

Tezuka’s lips pressed together in a thin line. It must have been a discussion. “I’m not.”

Tezuka’s mother came to his defense, or rather, to hammer that last nail into her son’s coffin. She pet down her son’s ever-messy brown locks and said, “Unfortunately, Kunimitsu and Father thought to do a spot of gardening just before leaving the house.”

Sanada watched Tezuka’s ears pink and felt marginally better about the brat crawling around on his back.

“Shall we get in line?” he suggested, rescuing Tezuka from intense mothering.

“Aa,” Tezuka confirmed and walked by Sanada’s side to the long line, wrapped around food stands and cheerful groups drinking hot sake. Sanada was grateful when Sasuke dropped from his back to try his father for some yakitori money. He was especially grateful for that when the pulsing crowd edged him closer to Tezuka. Side-by-side, their shoulders brushed, arms mingling with every progression toward the front. He wondered if it hurt Tezuka’s shoulder. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Tezuka too felt this warmth, immediate and blossoming like the sensation of hot sake hitting his belly.

The bell sounded midnight at the temple. People around them kissed and cheered, but Sanada was happy to stand there with his arm touching Tezuka’s. Swallowing, he leaned closer to be heard over the noise, “Do you have five yen?”

“No,” Tezuka said, but pressed a fifty-yen coin into his palm. Sanada kept Tezuka’s hand all the way to the front of the line, where he clapped his hands and prayed. There was no need to make a wish; even his silent one had been answered.

 

***

 

Tezuka clapped his hands and prayed for the success of Seigaku and their new leadership; they certainly needed that prayer more than Tezuka himself did. The warmth lingered in his hand, even after his grandfather looped an arm around his back and ushered him to the amazake stand to warm up. His mother pressed a cup into his hands and kissed his cheek for the New Year. 

Tezuka looked beside him to see Gen holding Sanada’s cup just out of reach and laughing raucously as he agitated Sanada further with every failed attempt.

Some things never changed.

They remained there in that little circle of body heat until Sasuke declared that he needed to get a fortune, a super good one to pass his math test. Gen dotingly agreed and put his son up on his shoulders. Smiling still, Ayana followed, pulling along Kuniharu, who was all too happy to leave the drinking to his father.

Tezuka looked at Sanada, who stared right back at him. Wordlessly, they made their escape from their grandfathers, before the old men could progress to stronger sake.

“Do you want to get a fortune?” Sanada asked him as they walked along the wooded path.

Tezuka shook his head. “I don’t believe in fate.”

“I see….” Sanada stared at the ground. They wandered away from the crowd, down one of the many offshoot trails on the shrine’s sprawling grounds. From the corner of his eye, Tezuka caught sight of the hand that had so boldly grasped his barely an hour ago. “I wanted to tell you. For some time now. And not just because of match. I’m sorry.”

It took Tezuka a moment to realize what Sanada had meant.

“Don’t be,” he said simply. It was simultaneously endearing and irritating, that Sanada actually said it aloud. “You did what was needed, Genichirou. We endured.”

He didn’t really need or want to understand Sanada’s feelings from three years ago. Sanada had clearly required something to fan his fire, and if that cold animosity pushed his growth and evolved him into the Sanada that stood beside him right now, that was just fine. That broken connection had helped Tezuka hone in on Seigaku, which required his full focus to build up and support. He needed that space to recover his arm and to recover his faith.

And Sanada had shown him in their match. He showed him what he had become, and perhaps, what they could become again, with all the anger dissolved from the ties that bound them.

They had gone so far down the path that they could only hear their own footsteps. With a little cough, Sanada reached for Tezuka’s hand again. “I’d say that we prospered.”

“Aa,” Tezuka agreed. Sanada’s hand was warm, like a summer afternoon on Monroe.

Hand in hand, they continued on to where the path widened for a little rest house, surely there for the older folks who wanted to visit the smaller shrines further on within the grounds. They mutually approached the vending machine. Tezuka hoped for some hot tea to temper the taste of amazake on his tongue.

“Tea?” Sanada asked, standing directly behind Tezuka, who perused the selection.

He turned to face Sanada more fully and held out his hand. “I gave you my last fifty yen.”

His eyes followed the path of Sanada’s hand into his kimono. The former vice captain plucked a full hundred yen coin from his purse and placed it in Tezuka’s hand, flower side up. Tezuka curled his hand around Sanada’s again and didn’t let go. He watched a little cloud of breath emerge from Sanada’s parted lips and disappear into the air between them. In the next moment, the space between them disappeared as well. He moved his lips against Sanada’s and gasped for the hot, velvet friction of his tongue. His free arm stretched up to tangle in the short hairs at Sanada’s nape as his back forcefully hit the vending machine. Maybe, like this, it was possible to get drunk on the taste of non-alcoholic sake.

Their exchange grew more fervent. Tezuka’s hands twisted in Sanada’s hair as their mouths discovered all the new and wonderful ways to fit together, only a few of which were made awkward by Tezuka’s wire frames. At one point his glasses caught on Sanada’s bangs, earning a dark rumble of a chuckle from Rikkai’s former vice-captain. Affected by the sound, Tezuka pulled him in again to bite at his kiss-plumped lips. He heard a loud moan in response, but not from Sanada. Tezuka tilted his head back against the _Ponta_ button and stared curiously at an equally puzzled Sanada.

Another impassioned cry cut through the woods, going so far as to shake the vending machine.

No. A moan could not achieve that. There were people on the other side of the machine.

When he heard a more familiar hiss, the machine lurched so hard that it nearly toppled on top of them. Sanada caught it both hands and dug his feet in, grunting with the effort. The machine threatened to topple again. Whatever the couple on the other side were doing, the force of it was certainly impressive.

At least he thought as much until he completely recognized that sound.

“Kaoru…” Kirihara groaned at a whisper. The wet, lewd noises that followed turned Tezuka’s already pink ears fluorescent.

“FSshhh...”

“ _Tarundoru_ ,” Sanada scolded, though his comment was thoroughly masked by rising hisses and hoarse pleas of enjoyment.

Swallowing thickly, Tezuka watched the expressions flicker across Sanada’s face as he kept the machine steady. Despite the effort, his arms didn’t shake and his knee held firm. He slid his fingers slowly from Sanada’s nape, tracing the strong line of his jaw to trail over his adam’s apple. Sanada was strong; he only trembled where Tezuka touched him.

“Akaya….”

“MNNnnnmm… _fuck_!”

Their juniors’ brute strength shoved the vending machine yet again, but Sanada growled and stood stubbornly still. Though Tezuka might have helped or suggested that they move their exploits, he thought it was about time that someone be _his_ pillar for a change. In the protective pocket of Sanada’s arms, he moved closer, ducking such that his hot breath tickled down his companion’s neck. His lips followed the path his fingers had scouted just moments before.

As Sanada’s breath hitched, his skin jumped willingly to Tezuka’s lips. He worried the flesh between his teeth, teasing the blood closer to the skin to paint Sanada red with his affection. The quickened pulse against his tongue made him shiver, despite Sanada’s heat and the warm machinery quaking at his back. He ignored the vending machine. Sanada could handle it, and he did, all while biting his lips to contain all the noise he wanted to make.

“Tezuka,” Sanada growled imperatively to his hair. 

“Aa…” he basked in that throaty sound and nipped at the exposed juncture between Sanada’s neck and shoulder. He liked kimono.

“ _Tezuka_ ,” he pleaded.

Tezuka straightened to look his desperate companion in the eyes. He didn’t have the time to register what he saw. Sanada crushed their lips together, shoving Tezuka back against the vending machine. The full weight of that collision and Sanada’s strength sent the box with such force that for a long, terrible moment, he worried that they crushed the futures of their respective schools.

Of course, the future had pushed back. The vending machine, precarious between two passionate couples, gave up its fight and tumbled down sideways with a loud crash, drowning out surprised screams.

Still holding onto Sanada’s kimono, Tezuka turned around to see a startled Kirihara clinging like a koala to a wildly flushed Kaidou. He released Sanada and faced his successor with neatly crossed arms. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t exactly punish Kaidou.

And it didn’t matter, because Kaidou dropped Kirihara and started running laps around the grounds all on his own.

Groaning, Kirihara stood up and rubbed his ass. “Fuku-b — Sanada-san! You were here with…your neck!” the elfin player grasped his own neck in excitement. Green eyes widened gleefully, shifting side to side as though contemplating whom to tell first.

“Are you going to be outdone before the season even starts?!” Sanada bellowed. “It’s your own fault for wearing skinny jeans!” 

Tezuka watched approvingly as Sanada’s words kicked Kirihara into gear. That messy haired little thing might even catch up with Kaidou.

But Tezuka didn’t care, because Sanada was pressing kisses into his ear. “You made a mess of me. He’s going to tell.”

“You were careless,” Tezuka accused. The tiniest of smirks grew on his lips. 

“And now it’s your turn.” After speaking those words, Sanada’s teeth did _something_ to his ear that he absolutely had to feel again.

“Perhaps.”

“You know, that rest house is probably unoccupied.”

Convinced, Tezuka said, “Happy New Year.”

 

***

 

The next day, Sanada and Tezuka sat side-by-side in the seiza position and stared at the straw mat floor. Sanada hated that grandfather had forced him to wear his jinbei to reveal all of the dark hickeys that covered his neck.

At least the nice pink spot between Tezuka’s jaw and left ear was also visible. He looked at the floor again before either of their enraged grandparents could catch him admiring it.

“Tarundoru!”

“I cannot believe that the two of you were so careless.”

“Genichirou, what kind of marriageable woman would go at you in a shrine like that? A bear might as well have gnawed on your neck!”

“Were you not ashamed to walk around a holy place in that state, Kunimitsu? That marking isn’t quite as bad, but still, no grandson of mine — ”

“Well, Genichirou can’t help being a Sanada. Our virile pheromones pack quite a punch.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Kunikazu huffed, sliding open a paper door to return to their shogi game. “All of Ayana’s friends at the supermarket want her to introduce their daughters to Kunimitsu.”

Genemon followed, sliding the door shut behind him, leaving the grandchildren to their punishment. “We ought to decide this with a kendo match between the two of them.”

“Kendo? I think a woman would prefer a fisherman. Put the two boys out on the boat and see who can actually feed a family.”

Sanada exhaled deeply when they were finally left alone. “A bear,” he repeated quietly, looking at Tezuka with amusement.

Raising his brows slightly, Tezuka replied, “Pheromones.”

Sanada flushed. He shifted sideways out of the punishing position to give Tezuka a bit of punishment. His lips fell on the long, pale neck, decorating it with little red marks to keep the one by his ear company. Tezuka’s fingertips curled against his scalp, urging him to pull at the collar of his ugly, beige sweater and love up the skin beneath. As that hand twisted in his hair and he thought that, perhaps, Tezuka was still his hero after all.

Then, Tezuka nuzzled his way down to Sanada’s ear and whispered, “Are you going to show me the elephant dance now?”

Sanada yelped and sputtered, drawing their grandfathers back into the washitsu. Neither Tezuka nor Sanada made any effort to explain the newly bloomed love-bites on Tezuka’s neck.

While Genemon tasked Sasuke with bug hunting, Sanada decided that Tezuka was definitely not his hero. But he wouldn’t want him any other way.


End file.
